


Toward the Setting Sun

by thesaddestboner



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crack, Gen, Out of Character, Silly, Subtext, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Pete’s an opportunistic vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toward the Setting Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I envision most of this taking place on a tourbus in an indeterminate timeline. I’m also probably _wayyy_ off with characterizations but I figure, hey, this is vampire AU. Nothing makes sense when vampires occur.
> 
> Originally posted to [**benched**](http://benched.livejournal.com/).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Pete ran the tip of his tongue over the point of one of his fangs, had been doing that since they – well, since they grew in, really. He couldn’t, for the life of him, remember how he’d become a vampire, who turned him, when, why. The previous week was nothing but a blank slate – whomever (or whatever, really) had turned him had taken that with them, as well as his humanity.

There were some days when it was easy to accept that you weren’t the man you used to be, that, fuck, you weren’t a _man_ at all. You were a creature of the night, a member of the army of the undead (well, okay, _that_ was melodramatic) – a fucking vampire.

You were a force to be reckoned with, for sure. There was no beating around the bush, being a vampire _did_ have its benefits. Vampires had _street cred_. A flash of the fangs, and even the drunkest, surliest asshole would step down. Chicks also seemed to dig the mystique and allure that came with being a vampire – something that Pete had yet to figure out. He couldn’t see what was so goddamn sexy about biting people on the neck and drinking their blood. Maybe it was something he’d have to grow into. He wished there was a fucking manual on this shit.

Of course, being a vampire also had its drawbacks. He still had to find a way to break the news to the band, that their frontman was a – God, there was no way in hell they’d believe him. Not even with the razor-sharp fangs and deathly pallor to prove it. Joe would probably just accuse him of having his teeth filed down to facilitate an elaborate ruse, Patrick would probably just look at him like he’d lost his mind, and Andy would _definitely_ just hit him.

There was no easy way to explain this.

And if the _media_ got hold of it – well, then.

Then, the shit would _really_ hit the fan

-

Patrick was the one who noticed Pete had been quiet the bus ride into Milwaukee. It wasn’t like Pete to have not said a single word since Chicago, so, obviously, something was up.

Patrick settled across from Pete and nudged his knee with his own. “Why so blue?” He gave Pete a tiny smile which quickly turned upside down when Pete didn’t respond. “Pete?”

Pete flicked his gaze on Patrick, not raising his chin from his chest. “What is it, Patrick,” he asked, flatly.

“Um. Just noticed you were kinda – brooding again. Girl troubles?”

Pete shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he muttered, shifting his knee away from Patrick’s.

Patrick raised his eyebrows; Pete was never one to shy away from physical contact. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Leave me alone.” Pete tugged his hoodie down over his face and scrunched himself into a ball in his seat.

“Is Wentz being an emo fuck again?” Joe hollered from the back of the bus.

Patrick raised his head. “It’s all right, guys.” Patrick looked back at Pete and shook his head a little, let out a sad, admonishing little sigh. “Just the usual.” He stood up and returned to his seat, and Pete immediately missed Patrick’s closeness, his warmth.

A frightening thought crossed Pete’s mind. He realized he _had_ no warmth left.

-

“Pete, you’re looking way pale these days. You sick or something? Have you got anemia?”

Pete looked over to find Joe staring at him, a worrying crease lining his brow. Pete rested his bass between his legs and shrugged. “I’m all right, I guess. Had a bad night couple of weeks ago, but nothing too serious.”

Joe’s look of worry melted off his face and was replaced with one of brotherly, you-can-talk-about-it-with-me-man concern. He put a hand on Pete’s knee. “Anything you wanna talk about?” Joe paused. “Girl problems?”

Pete sighed. “Why is it that every time I look like shit, it’s gotta be girl problems?”

Joe rolled his eyes and pulled his hand back. “ ’cause we _know_ you, Pete, that’s why.”

Pete picked his guitar up and slung the strap over his shoulders. “I’m fine, Joe. I’m making music I’m proud of, we’re making money, life actually doesn’t completely fucking suck - I’d say I’m fine.”

“Well, all right. If you insist. But, I dunno, just seems like you’re – weirder than usual. And you fucking know that if I’m saying it, it’s gotta be serious,” Joe said.

Pete flicked his fingers at the guitar strings. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’ll be fine.”

Joe turned away to tune his guitar and Pete closed his eyes, prayed on a whisper of a breath: _Please, God, let me be fine._

-

“Patrick.”

Patrick looked up from his sheets of music and Pete paused – he couldn’t see his own reflection in Patrick’s glasses. “Yeah, Pete?”

He sat down on the floor next to Patrick’s bed with a heavy thud. “I need to tell you something,” he said, grimly.

Patrick pushed the music aside and leaned in, reaching out to touch Pete’s shoulder, jerking his hand away when Pete flinched. “Are you – is everything okay, Pete?” he asked, tucking his hand around his bent knee.

“You’re probably going to laugh at me, and I really wouldn’t blame you,” Pete said, looking down, tucking his legs under his frame. “It’s just that. This has been bothering me for a couple weeks now, and I’ve got no one to talk to. And I really, _really_ need to talk to someone about it, and if I don’t, I’m gonna fucking explode, and Patrick _oh my God_ ,” Pete took a deep breath; he was rambling now, “I don’t know what to do.”

Patrick crawled out of his bunk and shuffled on his knees over to Pete, touching the back of his hand. When Pete tried to jerk away, Patrick grasped onto his hand, whispered, “No, it’s okay. You can tell me _anything_ , Pete.”

Pete raised his eyes and swallowed hard. He could still taste the coppery tang of that evening’s dinner at the back of his throat. Guilt did funny things to his stomach, flipping it, twisting it, turning it into a goddamn punching bag. Pete hadn’t expected being a vampire to be this fucking - _emotionally draining_. “I, um.”

Patrick watched him ardently, leaning in, lips parting slightly, still clasping Pete’s cold, trembling hands in his. “You’re so cold. Let me get you a bla – ” Patrick began, but Pete cut him off with, “Patrick, I’m a vampire.”

The silence that filled the tiny, mostly asleep tourbus was deafening.

Pete bit his lip accidentally, a little too hard, and tears sprang to his eyes.

“You’re a – a _what_?” Patrick jerked his hands away, and Pete felt even shittier. He didn’t feel so cold when Patrick was near him; now that Patrick had jerked away, he felt even colder.

“I’m a vampire, Patrick,” he whispered miserably. Pete lifted his head and bared his fangs. “Thee? Fangth.”

Patrick blinked, jaw gaping. “Holy . . . shit.” A hand flew to his neck and Pete flushed in embarrassment and – something else. Something he wasn’t used to feeling. Shame. Patrick must’ve seen the look on Pete’s face because he reached out and grazed his fingertips lightly over Pete’s shoulder. “I, I’m sorry, Pete. This’s probably been really hard on you.”

Pete allowed himself a stiff nod, trying to keep himself on an emotional lockdown. “Especially when you can’t remember who, when or why.” He bit the inside of his lip, wincing when he drew blood. “I don’t know what to do.”

Patrick sighed and glanced at the floor, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He paused to push them up before speaking. “Neither do I. This is – this is _heavy_.” He raised his head and looked at Pete, an unreadable expression drawing his usually friendly face blank. “We’re gonna have to talk about this. You know, like, me and Joe and Andy.”

Pete swallowed, cringed at the taste of his own blood. It didn’t taste sweet, like that evening’s dinner tasted; it tasted - toxic. “You mean, about - ?”

Patrick sighed and rubbed Pete’s knee. “You’ve gotta tell Joe and Andy. Then the four of us will go from there.”

Pete nodded, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, feeling even emptier than he did when he woke up in a puddle of dried blood two Tuesdays previous and realized his life as he knew it had been forever changed, “okay.”

-

Joe and Andy hadn’t taken the news well. And, really, Pete couldn’t blame them. Joe had thought he’d lost his mind, the stress of cross-country travel, girl problems, a complete break with reality. Andy was just irritated.

“I can _not_ believe you’re trying to convince us you’re a _fucking vampire_ , Pete!” Joe yelled. “Not only that, you’re trying to convince us to join you in Pete-is-a-fucking-psycho-land! You’re really un-fucking-believable!”

Andy said nothing, only twirled his drumsticks in his hand, ran his eyes down the length of them before fixing his gaze steadily at the center of Pete’s chest. It was pretty fucking unnerving, to say the least.

“We could be, like, that vampire band! It’d be _cool_ , you guys,” Pete said, trying to smile without too much fang. He didn’t want to spook Patrick, who’d been eyeing him weirdly all evening and rubbing at his neck. “And think of the publicity!”

“Dude, you are not turning me into a fucking vampire.” Andy clenched his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m a fucking _vegan_.”

“Pete. This is a fucking _horrible_ idea. Firstly, you’re going to have fanatics coming after us with stakes after every set. Secondly, I am _not_ letting you enact your homoerotic vampire fantasies out on me! Thirdly, I am _not letting you turn me into something that doesn’t even fucking exist_ , and _fourthly_ , you are _fucking insane_ ,” Joe said reasonably.

“Dude, you _saw_ the fangs.”

Joe flared. “You totally just filed your teeth down or something. Vampires _don’t exist_!”

Pete waved off Joe’s protests and turned his gaze on Patrick, who had yet to speak. He offered him another tight-lipped, fangless smile. “What do _you_ think, Patrick?”

Patrick lifted up his hat to scratch a hand in his hair, a funny look crossing his face. He looked like he was torn between bursting into tears and kicking the shit out of Pete, which was par for the course when it came to their relationship, but it still threw Pete a little. “I . . . don’t want us to be a novelty.”

Pete nodded once and lowered his head, shoulders falling.

“I just – I just don’t think there’s a future for you in the band. I mean, we all kind of talked about it last night, and. Um, well. We kinda think you need to leave.”

Pete’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Patrick; it was the first time he and Patrick had met gazes the entire discussion and Patrick was jarred. He quickly drew his arms around himself, protectively, although when one party was a vampire and the other a living, breathing, full-of-delicious-blood human being, the odds of just crossing your arms over your chest being enough to save you were between slim and none.

“I’m sorry, Pete. We just don’t feel – ” Patrick hemmed and hawed as he searched for the appropriate word, squirming uncomfortably under Pete’s hard, scrutinizing (and very dead) gaze. “We don’t feel _safe_.”

“ _I_ feel safe,” Joe pointed out, raising his hand, “because _vampires_ don’t _exist_.”

“You don’t feel safe – around _me_?” Pete asked, sounding like all the air had been punched out of him. “You don’t feel safe around me.”

Patrick swallowed hard and blinked his eyes, obviously feeling like a giant flaming asshole, but that didn’t make Pete feel any better. He was a fucking vampire, he had to drink blood to sustain his existence, and not only that, his bandmates were _firing_ him because of it.

“I get it,” Pete muttered lifelessly – how ironic – and turned his back on them. He didn’t want them to see him cry. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Pete slumped off to his end of the bus and hastily began packing his hoodies and girljeans, tossing in whatever would fit. He could hear them whispering in low tones behind him, and strained to eavesdrop.

“Dude, we can’t just, like, _fire_ him,” Andy hissed. “As much as we hate to admit it, he _is_ Fall Out Boy. The press’d have a fucking field day with that.”

“I really think we need to commit him,” Joe insisted. “He’s clearly gone off the deep end. Fuck, I think he’s _cannonballed_ off the deep end.”

“What do you think the press is going to do with a frontman-turned-vampire?” Patrick countered.

“They’ll probably just see it for what it,” Joe raised his voice so Pete could hear, “ _really is. Which is an elaborate, shameless attention-grab._ ”

Pete sighed and finished packing away his clothing, guitar picks and Sidekick. He tucked the pictures of his dog in his pocket, wondered if he’d ever see Hemmingway again, whether or not the dog would even recognize him. The thought of spending the rest of his undead life without his beloved Hemmy made Pete want to burst into tears all over again.

Pete marched over to the three of them, back ramrod straight, head held high. “Well, guys. Guess this is it,” he said.

Joe nodded glumly and Andy only sighed. Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but Pete cut him off before he could get it out.

“Good luck, guys. With the touring and shit.” Pete leaned over and picked his bass up from its stand, slung it over his shoulder and picked up his bag. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” He turned to leave.

He could make out indistinct murmurs behind him, thought he heard Joe mutter, “Fucking nutjob,” thought he heard Andy wish him good luck right back.

Thought he heard Patrick whisper, “I love you,” but he couldn’t be sure.

Pete clomped down the steps of the tourbus and headed west, toward the setting sun.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
